


a place in the world

by troiing



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Fluff without Plot, because naked-in-bed fluff is all that matters to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 19:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9340727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troiing/pseuds/troiing
Summary: In the aftermath of such a trying day, all either of them can do for a long few moments is lay there, hands clasped, and laugh.  Quietly, in intermittent spurts of exhausted good humor, but they laugh.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another somewhat-edited tumblr fic. Figured I'd move it here because, well, fluff. Title from Mary Chapin Carpenter's "A Place in the World," which I'm feelin' for Berena, honestly.

“What a day,” Bernie, mutters.

It’s midnight, and she crashes into Serena’s bed like an abandoned rag doll to stare at the ceiling, caffeine and adrenaline combating exhaustion. Restless, aching for a good long sleep.

Serena can barely bring herself to speak in response. That damned red phone had just had to ring at the end of their shared shift. She’s glad they were both there and glad of the positive outcome, but the day had been trying enough without a particularly exciting trauma call to cap it off.

And now Bernie’s in her bed, palms upturned at her sides as she stares at the ceiling, runners planted firmly on the floor with the hems of her scrubs tugging up from around her ankles. A disaster. Serena imagines she looks more of the same herself, although her own street clothes had not been victim, as Bernie's, to some particularly wretched bodily fluids.

“Agreed,” Serena finally replies, making for the closet with her own shoes. The room is pristine, the way she likes it (the way she’d arranged it this morning while Bernie harangued her in an effort to get her out the door on time), and Bernie Wolfe is collapsed across her bed in dirty scrubs, her bra carelessly discarded from where she’d wiggled out of it on her way to the bedroom. “Bernie…” she tries in a coaxing voice.

“Mm.”

“Don’t suppose you were planning on changing out of those scrubs?” she suggests in her best _I’m giving you a suggestion that you really ought to treat as an order_ tone.

An order Bernie does not seem to understand. But then, they both know she’s not very good at reading a room. “They’re clean.”

Serena makes a quiet scoffing noise. “They’re not. Just because you only wore them for the tail-end of your shift doesn’t mean I’m letting you crawl into my sheets in them; I only just washed them.”

Finally, Bernie turns her head, regarding Serena tiredly, but with something more in her eyes. She’s not exactly proud of her own untidiness, but Serena’s obsession with neatness remains vaguely amusing to her. “You’re only going to wash them again.”

Serena is too tired to decide if that’s more pragmatic or mischievous, or equal parts both. She moves closer to the bed and extends a hand instead. “Come on,” she says, and Bernie’s chest heaves with a sigh. Nevertheless, she lifts her own hand for Serena to take. “Up you - ”

When she realizes Bernie’s hand has gone vise-like around her own, it’s too late. She lands on her side, arm curled beneath her, hand clasped in Bernie’s. “…come,” she finishes when she’s collected herself, flashing a weary and half-heartedly displeased look at the other woman’s face.

Bernie Wolfe, whose smiles are fleeting at best, who so frequently buries any semblance of emotion under her best rendition of a stony exterior, looks every bit the cat who ate the canary. Broad mouth carrying a close-lipped smile ear to ear. Eyes crinkled, glittering. Her grip relaxes to a gentler squeeze, and Serena feels her own face break into a smile. She can’t help it; she’s exhausted, even tetchy, but Bernie’s smile lights a spark in her that burns in her lungs and breaks through her pores. She laughs quietly, lets the grin escape across her face until it almost hurts, and squeezes back.

In the aftermath of such a trying day, all either of them can do for a long few moments is lay there, hands clasped, and laugh. Quietly, in intermittent spurts of exhausted good humor, but they laugh.

Finally, when she’s composed herself enough, Serena tugs Bernie’s hand close enough to keep a grip on it while awkwardly levering herself onto the same elbow. She leans in, and the laughter stops but the smile does not vanish from Bernie’s face when she kisses her. Softly, the whisper of a kiss, and then with a little more surety. Their fingers retangle as Bernie tilts her chin, accepting and returning the caress with equal tenderness.

When she withdraws, Serena gazes down in wonder, eyes searching Bernie’s face, for a long moment. Their first few kisses had been so passionate, so desperate. She likes the way Bernie’s lower lip practically vanishes when she sucks it in, satisfied and yet a little awkward in the wake of the tender display.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” Serena breathes. It’s true, for varying reasons. A kiss like that would have gone a long way after delivering bad news to the family of a particularly difficult case, would have made the world slow down for just an instant amidst the chaos caused by a multi-car pileup.

“Me too,” Bernie replies with her lips pressed into a tight smile, and Serena uses the smile to pull herself back into the moment; the last thing she wants is to wax into meditation on the events of the day.

“Well,” she says after a moment, brushing her thumb over Bernie’s knuckles before releasing her hand. “Come on. I don’t care if you’re naked; you can’t sleep in that.”

“Hm,” Bernie replies, and it almost sounds like a laugh. Serena tries to press her lips into a disappointed frown while she hauls herself out of the bed, but she only manages a smile. “Naked sounds alright.”

“I bet it does.” She extends her hand again, but arches a brow. “No funny-business.”

“None intended,” Bernie sighs, allowing Serena to help her out of the bed. She moves to the corner to toe the runners off her feet, not bothering to untie them first, and Serena watches the slight bend of her back when she unceremoniously pulls out of her scrub top and undershirt in the same go. She barely pauses, and certainly doesn’t turn around, as she makes for the bathroom half-dressed.

Honestly, it’s a little endearing.

A little.

More endearing if she knew where the hamper was.

Serena is all but ready to pull into her favorite, silky pyjamas when it occurs to her (and her heart seems to hiccup at the thought), that perhaps sleeping in the buff isn’t so bad. She disagrees with Bernie on many things, but on this, she thinks she’ll concede: the idea of ending the day with their bodies pressed together, warm and flush, _is_ rather a welcome thought. She's never really had the occasion for such things, though she's had a number of lovers.

Bernie’s just finishing at the sink when Serena walks in, clad in a housecoat that slithers against her bare thighs. Bernie straightens, wicking water from her face with her hand, and Serena makes a surprised little noise. She mentally kicks herself immediately after. Ridiculous, honestly. She’s an adult; she’s been naked around other people and seen them naked in return, but… but Bernie is new, and Bernie is exquisite. And Bernie has not failed to notice the noise she made. She gives Serena an arch look in the mirror and Serena clears her throat, reaching purposefully for her toothbrush.

“Does this bother you?” Bernie asks after a beat, suddenly uncertain. Obviously, she has noticed Serena's blush.

Serena crosses an arm over her body, trying for a casual tone. “Bother? No! No, it’s just… new. With, uh… with you.” True. But childish. She clears her throat, dedicates her attention to applying a perfect, pea-sized amount of toothpaste to her toothbrush. “And maybe I’m used to… to helping you take your clothes off. While… passionately kissing you,” she tells the sink.

She shoves the toothbrush into her mouth just as Bernie begins to laugh. A ridiculous, brief guffaw. Serena rolls her eyes.

“If you need to help with the bottom half, speak now.”

“No, no,” Serena utters around the toothbrush, eyeing Bernie and her lean figure in the mirror. “No, you… do the honors.”

Bernie exhales in what sounds suspiciously like a stifled laugh, and Serena turns her attention back to the mirror. Honestly, what was she, fifteen? Making a fool of herself over a bit of nudity. But every person was different, every relationship, every -

She sighs, and her thoughts are still bouncing aimlessly about when she returns to the bedroom.

Bernie has collected herself, and seems to be trying to bore a hole into the ceiling with her gaze, sheet clung to her chest, comforter thrown off for the time being. “I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep,” she remarks without looking at Serena, then sighs. “Still wired, you know?”

This sobers Serena a little. She settles on the edge of the bed, leaning her weight onto one arm. It’s natural to give care, when able. “Should I make some tea?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Hot toddy?”

“No, no,” Bernie murmurs, shaking her head and finally taking her eyes off the ceiling. “Just come here. Please.”

“Alright.”

Serena stands, loosing the knot to her housecoat, and on impulse lets the garment fall to the ground as unceremoniously as Bernie had undressed. She crawls under the covers while Bernie watches almost smugly, ignores the look, and eases her body up against Bernie’s under the cool sheets.

“How much did you hate that?” Bernie asks in a conspiratorial tone. And damned if she hasn’t even been allowed to properly appreciate the feel of their bodies pressed together like this.

“Only a little,” she lies with a close-lipped smile as Bernie rolls onto her side.

“Really.”

“Mm.” And she kisses her, softly, brushing a thumb against Bernie’s elbow.

They lay like that for a long time, sharing breaths, lips brushing now and again in wordless conversation, until Bernie’s eyes are glazed with sleep, and Serena feels about the same. She rolls then, reaching for the lamp at the bedside, and settles deep into the pillows and the warmth of Bernie’s body in the darkness.

“You’re wonderful,” Bernie slurs sleepily, fingertips tickling against Serena’s side.

Serena makes an approving noise, nestling into the crook of Bernie’s neck, breathing her in, letting exhaustion take her. “I know.” She can’t help it; nobody’s accused her of lacking in ego. She can feel the resulting growl in Bernie’s throat. Laughs a little. Kisses the dip between her clavicles.

“Of course you do.”


End file.
